Wretched Souls
by Sara Jaye
Summary: What if Mr. Turner didn't make it? A possible aftermath for Cult Fiction.


He sat alone in the empty apartment, surrounded by empty bottles and painful reminders. The beer tasted awful and he wished he could stop, but stopping would just make him feel better and he didn't want to feel better right now. He didn't deserve it.

Besides, it was a special occasion. It wasn't every day a guy pretty much killed one of the most important people in his life. Even now the steady beep of the monitor rang in his ears and he felt like screaming._ Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone_. Jonathan Turner was _dead_. Meeting his maker. Riding the highways in Heaven. Teaching little ghost kids English. Scoring dates with angels. Pushing up fucking daisies.

"Well, God, you sure don't fuck around, do you," he muttered, choking down another long sip of beer. "I shut you out, I blow him off, this's what I get! Nice lesson, asshole, what're you gonna do next time I screw up, kill my parents? Blow up the Matthews' house?" He dared the man upstairs to follow through on that, so what if he lost someone else? He was alone anyway, and now he didn't even have the Center.

Lost souls with nothing to believe in. A guy walking around with a hole in him, not knowing how he felt about God or anything like that. His closest friends had never seen it, but those assholes had.

_I never saw that, Shawn. I mean if you would've just told me, I could've done something about it._

"Y'already did, John!" Somehow he managed to swallow the rest of the beer without puking. "All that time!" He already had, and Shawn had been too damn stupid to see it until now. He moved to open another bottle of the stuff when the door swung open. _Shit!_ It was probably the cops, and here he was too fucking drunk to move or come up with a good cover story.

"Shawn."

Oh, yeah. Cory. Leave it to good old Cory Matthews to follow a guy back to his dead teacher's empty apartment. He didn't hear any squeaking or high heels so he guessed Topanga'd gone home by now. Whatever, it's not like one or both of them being here made any difference.

"Hiiiiiiiii!" he found himself yelling, waving the empty beer bottle above his head. "'m over heeere! In glassland!" _Man, that was stupid_, the tiny sober part of his brain taunted.

"You're _drunk_," said Cory, stating the obvious. The bottle hit the floor with a thud.

"Am not! You're just all pointy n' stuff." A laugh bubbled up in his chest, despite everything, and Shawn fell back against the couch. "Soooo, lemme guess, the wife's not in the mood tonight?"

"Shawn, come back home with me." Cory held out a hand. "Have a glass of water, get some sleep and in the morning I'll hold your hair while you puke."

"Can't." Shawn hiccuped. "Killed Turner."

"It wasn't _your_ fault." Cory sat down, his head looked like a big fuzzy cactus on top of a stick. Or something like that. "He crashed his bike, the doctors just couldn't save him. You didn't do anything wrong...I mean, c'mon, buddy, you prayed for him more than anyone!"

"_Because of me!_" Tears poured down his cheeks, like something exploded and now his face was wet. "He rode aalll the way down there t' get me back and then he crashed and then he broke his head and died and it was all cause of me! _I killed him!_ I-I killed the guy who was-John was just like my dad and my brother all at once and he was there for me and let me sleep on this couch, and...and I..."

He fell forward onto Cory's lap, sobbing hysterically. Cory's hands started running through his hair. Just like John's did anytime Shawn was upset or mad or something like that, and that just made it hurt more. _Everything_ hurt.

"Y-y'know what th' last thing he ever said t' me was?" he managed through gasps. "Said if he'd know I w's all fucked up inside he'd've done somethin'. But y'know what? Y'know what, Cor?" A laugh escaped him. "He did! The whole...fucking..._time!_"

"Shawn..." Cory kept stroking his hair and Shawn couldn't even bother to tell him to stop. It felt too damn good.

"He did that," he muttered. "The thing I said. I mean, he took me in, I slept here on this couch, ate his food, used his phone...watched his TV..." His stomach lurched. "And he let me! A-and sometimes, if I got upset or somethin' he'd stay up, talk to me. D-did y'know I started tryin' harder in English cause of him, sometimes? Hated it, but I tried anyway. Cause of him." His last paper, a D-minus, he knew he could've done better and Turner had said so. "One time, I-I got in late and he got in later and we had a big ol' laugh about it. Like it was no big deal!" A fresh flood of tears broke and he dug his fists into Cory's shirt. "He'll never laugh again, I'll never _see_ him he'll never _yell_ at me or tell me I could be somethin' or joke with me or ride his bike and it's _all my fault!_"

"Shawn..." Cory sighed, those damn fingers of his still stroking. "Turner knew what he was doing when he rode down there. He probably knew he'd crash, driving's dangerous when you're mad. They taught us that in driver's ed. But he still did it, cause even if he died, he would've died trying to do something good for you."

"_No!_" Shawn howled. "He wasn't supposed to! Cause I should've stayed away from the Center, it's all my-"

"Stop it." Cory pulled him up, rocking him in his arms. "Turner wouldn't want you doing this to yourself."

"He's gone. He can't tell me what to do anymore." Shawn burrowed further into the embrace, maybe it was the booze talking but Cory felt warm and good and he never wanted him to let go. He could count all the people who cared for him on one hand and Cory was the most important finger. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, John, you loved me and I never told you what you meant to me and I got you killed. I'm sorry. It's my fault, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." He repeated this over and over again, like a mantra.

"Let's get you home."

"No." Shawn sniffled. "It's his place. Used to be ours, it hurts to stay but I gotta stay."

"_Why?_"

"My fault he's dead. I deserve it."

In the end, Amy brought them back to the Matthews house. If she knew Shawn had been drinking, she didn't say anything; she rubbed his back while he puked, gave him a glass of water and then tucked the boys into Cory's bed. Cory didn't let go, and Shawn was glad for that.

_Hey, God? I was kidding earlier. Don't take them away from me, especially Cory. And...take care of Turner. Tell him I'm sorry, and I'm glad he did all that stuff for me._

He fell asleep to Cory stroking his hair. He didn't dream that night.


End file.
